


An Officer and a Gentleman

by 3amepiphany



Category: Wander Over Yonder
Genre: Alcohol, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-17
Updated: 2017-02-17
Packaged: 2018-09-25 02:12:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9797912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/3amepiphany/pseuds/3amepiphany
Summary: Why Commander, are you skirting the code of conduct or are you just happy to schedule a fire inspection...?





	

**Author's Note:**

> A Galentine’s gift for http://snailstew.tumblr.com, bc I can.

He skillfully pulled pint after pint, quickly handing them down to Abe to send around the bar for those that had ordered the special for the evening, hand on the lever and working with such smooth precision that the heads were thin and the sides of the glass were nicely dry nearly every time.

The talk for the night was less of a political one and while chock full of the finesse befitting of their more scientific symposiums, was still very manual and geared directly towards the off-duty electrical engineers in the room; Bean busily gave the sound equipment setup on the tiny raised partition one last check before walking the cord over to his video setup, declining the beer Andy had brought over for him for the moment while he gave that one last check as well. This event was such a gem to broadcast, and as Andy stepped up to the little microphone to loud applause from everyone inside the joint and with his own beer in hand, he excitedly called on everyone to “give a big thanks to Martin and the crew of The Moist Pupil for hosting the Talks on Tap series, and for allowing us to air it for broadcast over the network for everyone who couldn’t make it tonight, shift or otherwise. Tonight’s a pretty mechanically-heavy night tonight, lots of moving pieces to this talk,” Andy paused for the small ripple of laughter through the place, “but the master of moving parts on our dear Skullship, Scott–”

There was a shout from somewhere near the stage, and Bean sort of jumped at it, pulling away one of the cups of his headphones and then thwapping it back down and checking the sound levels on the laptop set on the table. He reached for his beer, finally, as Andy continued.

“Scott, buddy, the mic’s yours,” Andy said, stepping down and making way for the ship’s engineering command.

“Thanks for coming, everyone. Thanks, Martin and gang - this Petruvalian brew sure is something.” There was a cheer as he raised his glass, and Abe gave a wave of an empty tray. “Alright. Tonight’s talk is about electrical overstress.”

At the bar, Abe turned to Martin, who finally had a quiet moment to breathe and catch his bearings. Stonewall was dutifully on top of tabs and pay, negotiating fast and efficiently with his deft fingers to take orders, to hand over billfolds with receipts and pens and to file cards away in their tab box. Stoney fired down one last flash of his hand to Martin for two more glasses as he marked a sticky note, affixed it to the card, and shuffled through the box to stash it before taking a step back and clapping his hands softly, looking for the next task to squeeze in. He was about to reach for a towel to start wiping down the bar on his end when the door to their little establishment cracked open, and another patron slid in as discreetly as he could try.

Martin could see that someone else had come in, out of the corner of his eye, and when he found he was waiting just a little too long for Stoney to articulate an order, he looked up to see his doting staffer with the towel at his head. It took it a moment to realize that he was saluting the Commander, who was surveying the back of the crowd quietly.

Peepers looked at Stoney and gave a short nod and a small wave of his hand, a very subdued “at ease”, and Martin turned away from the tap line, taking a moment to dry his hands off on the towel tucked in his waist apron before giving Stoney a pat on the back, a job-well-done, and asking him to get the Commanders’ usual started. He walked over, a slightly stilted gait in the few steps he took to trade places with his staff, and gave Peepers a quick salute. Peepers saluted him back, and they both leaned in over the bar from their perspective sides on it, Martin taking the opportunity to stretch his back and knees out a bit.

Down the way, they could see Abe giving them a pointed sidelong glance and a slow, measured salute that lasted a couple of ticks before he put his hand down.

“Come to watch Scotty vet the contenders for the next tour’s crew?” Martin asked at a low tone.

“If any of them will be able to best the crew he has in the engine room right now I’ll be surprised. They already know the ins-and-outs of the trade, they get these talks in the calibration meetings with him before he brings it here.”

“Gotta rehearse it on someone and get some feedback, I suppose.”

“How’s the stock?”

“It’s robust. It’s good. Do you want a glass?”

“No, it’s fine, I’m not one for the grassy brews, thank you though.” He thanked Stoney too as he was handed a gimlet, obviously excited to see that there was a fresh garnish instead of the candied peel he was often used to getting when they were between solid supply ports. He took a sip, appreciating the taste of the fresh juice used over the frozen concentrate that would get made near the end of safe storage times. Peepers had ensured that there was a bit more lime on order for the food court so that the Moist Pupil wouldn’t have as tough a time procuring it as they’d had as of late. “Industry night”, as it was called, at the Pupil was - quietly - at risk for a while over fruit brokering, but it was either that or Taco Tuesdays, and the sanctity of the margarita on these nights wasn’t anything to bandy about flippantly for the detriment or the benefit of either side. The good Commander hated dissent among the ranks more than he hated trying to head it all off. “Big crowd,” mused Peepers. “Did we will enough swil for you this time around?”

Martin looked around too, watching Abe and Stoney survey the bar for patrons coming over with empty glasses, or if they needed to go out and collect any from the tables and booths just yet, watching as Andy and Bean switched every now and the between watching their speaker and watching their recording of him. After some math and guesstimating, he said, “We should skid into the next port by a hair’s breadth.”

“Remind me to come and do a fire inspection at some point, this has to be above capacity.”

“I’m free tomorrow.” He wasn’t sure if that had come out too fast or at the wrong pitch, but Peepers eyed him mid-sip over the rim of his glass, very oddly, and Martin couldn’t do much else about it except meet that stare confidently and hope to keep his composure.

Peepers blinked and said, “I’ll see about freeing up an hour for it. Should be able to.”

“Will it take that long?”

“Depends. I’m wholly unprepared at the moment–”

“You? Unprepared?”

“Unprepared. It certainly would be so nice to just clear this place out and ruin the night for everyone to make mine. So. If I can get you at a quieter time, we can have a more thorough walk-through without disturbing anything.”

Martin, going so well and strongly against everything telling him to chill out and have some decorum, gave a small shrug and leaned in a bit closer to respond, “Sir, it’s almost as if you’re trying to legitimize what I’m doing, here.” As he said it, he didn’t dare look at the Commander, opting instead to try to fix a cool stare down the way at Andy, who was approaching the end of the bar and grabbing Abe’s attention. He gave Andy a small nod as the broadcasting host glanced their way and did a double-take once he realized that Peepers was in attendance. Peepers was still waiting for Martin to look at him, and when he finally did, Martin could have sworn he could audibly hear the sound that severe whiplash makes, though it could have just been Peepers sliding back on the bartop a bit.

The Commander looked down the way and did his own double-take at Andy, and made a quick gesture that seemed to effectively convey that his presence was to be ignored.

“So about that liquor license,” Martin pressed, still leaning casually against the bar and having waited to say something again until Peepers was nearly finished with his drink with the hopes that he wouldn’t stick around for another and simply abscond for the night; preferably before the rest of the crowd knew he was there, though admittedly more preferably before Martin got a better grip on himself and either recanted everything to this point by sweeping it under the rug of professionalism and conduct, or flirting harder and more obviously, and making a complete ass of himself.

Or, more of an ass, at least.

“Well now, hold on there. I’m not sure if making an honest dive out of this place is something either of us is ready for, yet,” Peepers replied, finished his drink, and started fishing around in a pocket. Martin held a hand up, ready to rebuke payment as per their usual dance, and the good Commander produced some loose credits, “but I should like to see you again. Let’s say tomorrow, an hour before you open. That way you’ve got plenty of time to forewarn everyone when I shut you down for being a fire hazard, non-compliant, and contraband. How does that sound to you?”

“It’s a date.”

“I’ll bring my best clipboard.” With that, the Commander took his leave as quietly as he’d entered with a thank-you nod to Stoney, who waved at him as he went. The crowd was none the wiser and the credits went into the tip bowl on the back bar.

Martin facepalmed for a moment before rubbing at his eyelid so hard that he was seeing colors and spots of light.

“You know, it’s really hard to tell if he’s going to court-martial someone _before_ he sends them to the torture room or _not_ when he talks like that, wouldn’t you agree, Stoney?” Abe said, nonchalantly wiping down the tap counter and trying, or rather, failing miserably not to let on that he had been in on the last of the exchange. Stoney stood there at the sink, polishing the bar tools unnecessarily and giving them both a knowing look as an answer to that, and blinked a couple of times.

“Well where else is he going to get a drink like the ones we shake up for him? Technically we’re the closest thing to an Officer’s Lounge that this ship has,” Martin responded in kind to the silent commentary. Then he turned to Abe and said, deadpanned, “If you start singing that ‘Roxanne’ song I swear to everything holy you’ll be looking for another contraband club to sling for, buddy, and not even the Moulin Ru-Xeta won’t have you after they hear from me.”

“So you’re opening tomorrow, then. We’re switching shifts? Saving your establishment?”

“No. You’ll still be opening. I’ll just stay the extra hours.”

“Dang. Harsh. Coulda slept in while you sl–”

“You’ll be in thirty minutes earlier. Keep me on conduct.”

“Just you? Because I mean, if you need a wingman, I can help. You have a really strange way of flirting. Or doing business. I can’t tell. I don’t even know if the Commander can tell. Very gentlemanly, whatever it is, but it could use some work. Frankly so could the Commander’s style.”

Martin threw the towel he realized he’d been wringing in his hands at Abe, and shook his head, turning heel and making for the stockroom, intent on getting things ready for the inspection tomorrow.


End file.
